A Kyrgyz cemetery seen from a distance is astonishing. The ornate domes and minarets, tightly clustered behind stone walls, are so completely at odds with the desolate mountain regions that at first they seem a mirage: miniature walled cities that appear unexpectedly on the edge of inaccessible cliffs or stretched along deserted roads. Coming closer, the scale contracts; the opulent structures are much smaller than they seemed from afar. Graceful crescent moons, balanced on fragile metal rods, float above the domes and peaked towers. Within the walls, scattered among the imposing mausoleums, delicate metal frames replicate yurts, peopled only by portraits of the deceased and overgrown with weeds, for it is not Kyrgyz tradition for the living to visit the graves of the dead.